


Four People Stephen Won't Sleep With (And One He Might Have Done)

by queenfanfiction



Category: Actor RPF, American Actor RPF, Fake News RPF
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-16
Updated: 2010-11-16
Packaged: 2017-10-13 05:53:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/133698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenfanfiction/pseuds/queenfanfiction
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Who’s to say Stephen can’t have fantasies of his own? And who’s to say who’s in them?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Four People Stephen Won't Sleep With (And One He Might Have Done)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [underthepiano](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=underthepiano).



> Written for LJ's underthepiano, and she’ll understand why once she reads through it. :D
> 
>  **Beta Credit JESUS:** LJ's blamography was the first to answer the call, and she was EXCELLENT.  <3

**I. Jon Stewart**

Stephen didn’t care what all the fangirls and tabloid trash in the world said: He was _not_ banging Jon. Not now, not ever. There was living in an open relationship, there was trying something different, and then there was sleeping with one’s boss.

Besides, Jon and Evie went way back, and Stephen was pretty sure that if he ever took the time to draw up his and Evie’s unspoken contract that governed their marriage, _no sleeping with mutual friends and quite possibly ex-lovers if I had the balls to ask_ would be right at the top in big bold letters. And if Evie could keep her eyes off of Paul and Amy for more than a minute, then Stephen could certainly exercise some restraint.

Which was why Stephen and Jon were always the best of friends but never anything more than that. And Stephen never felt a thrill of desire whenever he and Jon reached for the same donut at the same time and their hands brushed, not at all.

**II. Bo Burnham**

The boy was brilliant (one of the youngest regulars in Comedy Central history), adorably handsome (Stephen could never get over the urge to reach through the screen and ruffle that irresistibly-fluffy hair), and Catholic to boot (and Stephen could safely say that Catholics were some pretty kinky bastards when it came down to it).

But the problem with Bo Burnham was exactly that: As filthy as his vocabulary might be, he was still just a boy. When even his own daughter had a squealing crush on Bo and clamored for every new album as soon as they were released, Stephen knew it was time to take a step back from the fine line that separated him from the hypocrites he scorned on his show for a living.

That left him with no other option but to retreat to the sanctuary of his bathroom with his iPod, set “Love Is” on repeat, and jerk off to the rhythm of Bo’s singing—or he would’ve been jerking off if he hadn’t been laughing so hard.

**III. Steve Carell**

It might have worked if Steve wasn’t already like a brother to Stephen, and if Steve wasn’t so painfully straight, straight, _straight._

Even Nancy was more readily up to a threesome than Steve ever had been, and that was counting all the times Steve had drunk way more Cosmopolitans than should be possible at every “The Daily Show” afterparty. Stephen would always find Steve quietly passed out in a corner the next morning, either alone or with his wife protectively huddled beside him.

But seriously, even if it could have worked out somehow, shouting one’s own name during the sexual act was just _wrong._

**IV. Jane Fonda**

Technically, one could argue that Stephen had already slept with the woman in question, if one could count unabashed making-out in front of a live studio audience and thousands of viewers across the camera as actually “doing it.” Stephen was almost certain that she’d been grinding in his lap so much on goddamn _purpose._

Nevertheless, sleeping with Jane Fonda would have been—strange, to say the least. Stephen would have had to make love not only with Jane, but with every film character she’d ever portrayed, every character of hers that he’d ever watched like the lovestruck geek he was. And Stephen didn’t think he could handle that.

But that didn’t stop him from doing...other things. So when he quietly removed her name from the “On Notice” board one afternoon, everyone was careful not to mention it.

**V. Bo Burnham**

Stephen supposed he should have suspected something when Bo darted into his office one afternoon, slammed the door firmly behind him, and backed up against the wooden barrier as if to block any means of escape. But before Stephen could say a thing, Bo blurted out, “My whole family knows I’m gay.”

There was only one word different from the lyrics of the song that had made Bo famous in the first place. Stephen arched an eyebrow. “Do tell.”

Bo inched away from the door and lowered himself into the guest chair across from Stephen’s desk. “I left my sketchbook on the subway the other day, and TMZ says they got hold of it,” he confessed. “And, uh, it might have had a lot of things in it. About me and, uh.” Bo made jazzhands. “My _fantasies._ ”

Stephen leaned back. “You seriously came all the way here to tell me that the Internet will know all your deepest homosexual desires just because you were dumb enough to lose your diary on the Metro?”

“It wasn’t a diary, it was my sketchbook. For my song lyrics and whatever I’m thinking on any given day.” Bo looked embarrassed. “It’s just—well, you’re the only openly-bisexual comedian I can talk to since we work at the same place and all that and Imighthavehadsomefantasiesaboutyouinthere so I thought you should know first. That’s all.”

Stephen blinked and tried to comprehend the string of words Bo had mumbled in one breath. “Beg pardon?”

“Fantasies. About you,” Bo clarified, a blush slowly creeping above his collar. “I, uh, I might have illustrated them, too.”

“Wow. Just—wow.” Stephen resisted the urge to bury his face in his hands. “So how long do I have before—the story breaks?”

“It’s already out. Google’s got millions of hits on our names by now.” Bo sounded as miserable as he looked, slumped in his seat like the high school troublemaker being called out at the principal’s office. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Colbert, really.”

Stephen took a deep breath before reaching out and taking Bo’s hand. “First off, you can call me Stephen,” he said, relishing the shocked look Bo was giving him and the soft feel of Bo’s delicate fingers in his own. “Second off, don’t be sorry. Well, yeah, be sorry that you lost your sketchbook, but not about what’s in it. A gossip rag’s not going to hurt me anytime soon, you know. I can blow TMZ out of the water on my show any day.”

Stephen hesitated. “Third off,” he finally murmured, rubbing the back of Bo’s hand with his thumb in small circles, “who’s to say I can’t have fantasies of my own? And who’s to say who’s in them?”

Bo’s breath audibly hitched.

Stephen leaned across the desk and smiled gently. “Do you want to see how our fantasies measure up to reality?”

Bo didn’t need to be asked twice. He simply got up from his chair, walked around the desk (never once letting go of Stephen’s hand, and Stephen stood up to accommodate the change in distance), and kissed Stephen so hard that Stephen swore he could see stars.

When they broke apart, Stephen tipped Bo’s chin upwards, forcing their eyes to meet. _Get a grip, Col-bert,_ a voice in his mind hissed as the two of them stared at each other. _He’s too young for you, even if he is legal. What are you THINKING?_

“Fuck me,” Stephen breathed.

“No,” Bo said. “Fuck _me._ ”

And that was the last thing either of them said for a very long time.


End file.
